BLACK OP
We make war that we may live in peace.
-Aristotle-
31 DECEMBER 2212
VICINITY OF SIEGPUNKT, ARABIEN PRINCIPALITY,
MARTIAN FEDERATION, MARS
Mars – the Red Planet. For centuries, mankind had speculated that life once existed on the Solar System's fourth planet. Be it elusive survivors of an ancient civilization that had once built the massive 'canals' that stretched across the landscape to malignant little green men bent on enslaving the human race, Mars had always been a source of mystery and wonder.
Despite the early probes of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries dispelling such speculation, the mystique surrounding Earth's neighbor never diminished, even after the first colonists from Earth arrived to make Mars home.
Present-day Mars was different in many ways. The sowing of bacteria and algae in conjunction with other terraforming efforts had resulted in the formation of an atmosphere around the Red Planet and a more Terran biosphere. While its inhabitants were still confined to living within the many pressurized domed cities and settlements that dot its landscape, the environment was now one that was far less inhospitable than that of Earth's airless moon or Venus' boiling hot surface.
Even the people populating Mars had changed in many ways. The disparate refugees fleeing the cataclysmic events that were engulfing Earth during the period leading up to the Fall and the idealistic colonists and terraformers escaping the tyrannical governments of Earth had evolved along with the land they called home.
The successful establishment of cities and agriculture, coupled with the spectacular terraforming achievements, led to a society that no longer had to struggle daily to survive. And it was in the absence of a common struggle to survive that the first cracks began to appear, ultimately resulting in the formation of two very different nations: that of the totalitarian Martian Federation and the antithetical Martian Free Republic.
Yet many things too, had remained the same. The temperature was still low though it hovered just above freezing and rust-red dust continued to blanket the ground. Deep chasms and canyons once believed to be water-bearing canals from eons ago continued to mark the bleak, frigid landscape. Native flora and fauna, if there was ever any to begin with, remained elusive as ever and massive volcanoes sprouting from the red soil continued to dominate the skyline despite the presence of the domed cities.
And humans will always be humans, Ranger Shawn Lainer thought cynically to himself as he slid between through a narrow gap in the boulders in front of him. The armored shoulder pads of his Sand Stalker suit scraped gently against the rock and he frowned at the moment of carelessness.
A cluster of five smaller domes sat further away from the main settlement and Shawn didn't need the countless intelligence pictures and briefings to tell him that he was looking at OstWand Military Base. After all, this wasn't his first incursion into Arabien Principality.
He stared at the structures amidst the rocky outcrops which would have seemed haphazard to the untrained observer, Shawn knew that each one of those outposts were covered by at least one other bunker. Knowing the Federation's way of doing things, it was more likely that each emplacement was covered by the guns of two or three more. To directly assault one of these bunkers was certainly a bad idea.
The sight of movement amidst the rocks caught his eye and he zoomed in for a closer look. It appeared as if his tormentors were finally giving up and heading back to base. Shawn heaved a sigh of relief and cursed at the same time.
While he was glad that the Federate hovertanks that had been hunting his squad seemed to be giving up their search, he was furious that they had even located his team in the first place. He was a Free Republic Rangers Scout, not some backwater militiaman.
He was supposed to know his stuff where stealthy infiltration was concerned. But he couldn't help it that his Hellwind transport had gotten itself detected as it crossed into Federate territory. The result was the arrival of several zealous Federate hovertank crews combing their insertion zone, hell-bent on finding the intruders who had roused them from their rest on New Year's Eve. It had been a dangerous game of cat and mouse that Shawn had played with them. And it finally seemed as if the mice had won. Or at least the cats had finally lost their patience . . .
Still, Shawn was mad at the delay that stemmed from having to cover his tracks and move more cautiously as the Federates searched the area. Despite all that was said during the pre-mission planning, he hadn't really been expecting Federate intervention on this mission. A few scattered patrols, he could handle. But twenty-five first-line hovertanks were certainly more than he could hope to deal with and he was forced to go to ground. Now, he was certain that his mission could no longer be completed.
The mission . . . Shawn found himself suppressing an involuntarily shiver at the thought of it. He peered out at the defenses around Siegpunkt once more, hoping to catch sight of his quarry. All he could see were unyielding rock, imposing defensive emplacements and returning hovertank column. He held up an armor-shod hand briefly to signal his team forward.
Again he shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the chilly temperatures around him. The Mars suit that he wore under the Sand Stalker exo suit kept him warm enough. No, it's not the cold, he told himself as the rest of his squad fanned out soundlessly around him. Even with the reduced air pressure on Mars, one didn't tempt fate by making too much noise. The shivers had nothing to do with the single digit temperature that surrounded his insulated suit of armor.
On his left, Timmins was crouched with his 30mm rocket launcher trained towards the departing column of hovertanks. Over on the right, Ulandi was bracing his 9mm chaingun, taking care to make sure the ammunition belt did not snag a protrusion of rock while Jung was peering intently though the scope of the GS-1 Gyroc sniper rifle that she 'acquired' several months ago. Gripped in Lainer's own hands was the potent GAC-2 Gyroc Cannon that he had relieved an unfortunate Federate exo trooper of, using it to replace the anti-amor gun he once carried. In addition to these weapons, they all had a motley collection of secondary weapons to suit their personal tastes, ranging from assault rifles and submachine guns to heavy pistols and hummer knives.
In the 'old days', Scouts tended to travel light since they would have to penetrate deep into enemy territory on foot. However, the introduction of the stealthy Hellwind hovertanks allowed Scouts to penetrate deeper into Federate territory, arriving fresh and toting a lot more firepower. The weapons his team carried now constituted a virtual arsenal when compared to the combat loads that had been common until about three years ago. Though he had no real intention of getting into a situation that would demand every ounce of firepower he had at his disposal for this mission, it was still reassuring to be carrying such big sticks.
Satisfied that the rest of his Scout team were in their positions and ready to unleash a whole lot of firepower on his command, Lainer returned his attention to the city, taking his time to study the broken terrain surrounding the Federate military base. He was sure his quarry was somewhere ahead of him. His quarry . . . A part of his mind wandered as he peered through the magnifiers at the jagged, rust-red landscape.
As a Republican citizen, he had been conscripted into the Martian Free Republic Rangers at the age of twenty to serve his five years of compulsory military service. At first, he had planned on fulfilling his obligation and leaving to do something else with his life. Following the completion of his basic training, he had found himself assigned to the elite Scouts.
And it had taken the next three years for Shawn Lainer to realize he had found his calling in life and when his five-year term ended two years ago, he had readily reenlisted for a full ten-year tour of duty, earning a commission to the rank of Ranger in the process.
In seven years of service to the Republic, he had been called upon to undertake countless missions in the defense of his nation. Most were covert, with great pains taken to conceal any sign of Republican involvement while some were clandestine, with the Federates not even realizing that a mission had been carried out. Even fewer, such as the one he was on now, were considered 'black' ops.
These were missions that were so secret that the deniability factor worked both ways. Not only was it necessary for the Federates to be kept in the dark, but even fellow Republicans could not be allowed to learn about such missions. If caught, Lainer knew his government would disavow all his actions and label them as renegades. Apparently, loyalty is a one-way street in 'black' ops, if it existed at all.
And there was a good reason for such an operation to be carried out under such secrecy. For the bulk of his military career, Lainer had stalked and killed Federate soldiers in the course of his missions. But today, he was given the unbelievable task of hunting his own countrymen. He would have thought his commanding officer to be insane if it weren't for the fact that his orders had arrived on official stationery of the Office of the President, bearing both the signatures of the President and the Secretary of Defense.
The mission objective was simple though the mission was by no means easy. Several of the militia groups in the troublesome Isidis Planitia had been stirring up trouble along the border once more. Under normal circumstances, such behavior would have been tolerated, with regular Free Ranger units going so far as to share information with these anti-Federation infiltrators.
However, the fallout from the Republic's implication in the destruction of the Martian Elevator and the present crisis made the Isidis Planitia a clear flashpoint for the next war – a war that the Republic wasn't too keen on fighting. When the President issued orders to the militias to 'cease and desist' until things had cooled down, the militias did the very opposite, increasing the frequency of their incursions as well as upping the violence level of these raids.
With the Federation demanding reparations and spewing rhetoric at the USN General Assembly, the last thing the President needed was a bunch of Federation-hating militia groups to try and ignite the next war. When talking didn't work, the unpublicized Operation Preserve Peace was put into action with regular units of the Republican military trying its best to curb the operations of the militias. Lainer had taken part in a few of these missions himself, with mixed results. So far, no one had been killed despite a few exchanges of fire.
However, several hardcore groups refused to comply even when faced by the lawful armed forces of their own country. One of these was Andy Robinson, commander of the 3rd Isidis Planitia Guards. Lainer had thus been given the unenviable task of apprehending the militia commander, failing which Lainer would then have to use alternative methods to deprive the 3rd Isidis Planitia Guards of its leadership. Without actually being told in specific terms, Lainer had been given Presidential approval to murder a fellow countryman.
They had scrambled when information was received indicating that Robinson was leaving for his New Year's Eve excursion. Lainer had tried to catch up, but the unexpected arrival of the Federate hovertanks had forced him to go to ground.
By now, Lainer was in serious doubt as to whether he could still complete the mission. He had initially decided to call the whole thing off as soon as the Federate hovertanks gave up their search. But now, within sight of OstWand, the renegades' most likely target, he was having second thoughts. Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't likely that HQ would willingly extract his team while Robinson and his men remained on the wrong side of the border.
Taking his eyes away from the binoculars for a moment to glance at the other three members of his team, Lainer noted that they remained at the ready. If any of them had been entertaining thoughts of going home, it didn't show. Jung, the team sniper, sensed his gaze and looked back at her squad leader. Though the blocky helmets of their Sand Stalker exo suits concealed most of their faces, Lainer could still read the questioning look in the woman's eyes.
Shawn shook his head and shrugged, then noticing that Timmins and Ulandi were looking at him as well, he hand-signalled that they would keep watch for another ten minutes before leaving their current position. Satisfied at having gotten an answer, the squad returned to the task of observing the Federate base. Shawn found himself studying one of the dozens of bunkers that surrounded OstWand.
Built to serve as a fortified fighting position for a full Obergrupen of infantry, the bunkers were identically equipped in typical Federate fashion. The snouts of two autocannons protruded from firing slit that ran the width of the bunker. The walls protecting the men inside were half -a-meter thick.
Fully pressurized except in combat, the bunker provided the regular garrison of twenty-five infantrymen with conditions suited for long-term habitation. With so many of these bunkers surrounding OstWand, Shawn estimated that there were as many as five hundred troops employed in guarding the perimeter around the base.
That was of course assuming that the bunkers were all fully-manned. Still, it was a luxury that his own nation could not afford. To even deploy a hundred troopers in a perimeter around their most important bases as a picket line was an awful waste of manpower in the Free Republic Rangers.
Something shifted within his view and Shawn froze. Increasing the magnification to the maximum setting, he scanned the bunker's surroundings more carefully. Then he saw it again. A trio of figures, dressed in rust-red camouflage capes, darted out of a tiny ravine, each one balancing a large rucksack on their backs. Two more figures appeared at the edge of the ravine, the unmistakable shapes of firearms in their hands as they covered their comrades' approach towards the bunker.
Sensing someone's gaze on him, Shawn looked over at Jung. From the way she had her rifle braced against her shoulder, it was clear that she was poised to take a shot.
Having seen her at work before, he was quite sure that she would be able to kill whatever he asked her to. All that was required was his order, which was what the inquiring look in her eyes was seeking.
Lainer agonized over the decision. They were too far away to apprehend the militia. He couldn't simply point his heavy firepower at them and tell them to give up. The alternatives were even less pleasant. If he ordered Jung to fire, they would be killing their countrymen without giving them a chance to surrender. They would die without knowing who killed them or why. Of course, the killing at this range would have to be done by Jung, but it was still his call to make.
And it was more likely that they would all go to ground once the first shot was fired. Not that it would really help much. Jung would kill the first one and then the alerted Federate troops would pour out of the bunker and kill the rest. And in the aftermath, they would have all the evidence they needed to prove the Republican raids.
Short of doing nothing, everything else that Shawn could possibly order would certain involve the deaths of the militia troopers sneaking around the bunker. The only variable seemed to be who would do the bulk of the killing, Jung or the Feddies. He had spent so much time on the mission thinking about this. He thought he knew what he would do if confronted such a choice. Apparently, his confidence had been misplaced. Staring into the abyssal decision of opening fire on his countrymen, Ranger Shawn Lainer flinched.
He held up a hand to forestall his sniper then returned his attention to the militia infiltrators before he could catch the hate-filled look in her eyes.